Take Me Away
by Everlasting Faerie Light
Summary: "Take me away from time and season; far far away, we'll sing with reason. Prepare a throne of stars above me, as the world once known will leave me." I was Emily Felicity Kirkland, loyal British subject and colony. I am now Amelia Felicity Jones, independent and free, forever the United States of America. This is my story. -American Revolutionary War, EnglandXfem!America
1. Prologue

_Kneel in silence, alone…_

_My spirit bares me_

_Pray for guidance, towards home_

_In Darkest hours…_

xXxX

My name is Emily Felicity Kirkland. I am a proper young lady; I go to church every day, I work extremely hard to make life bearable out here in the unforgiving country-side, and I always speak when spoken to.

However, I'm not like other girls. Other girls stay home and obey their husbands. Other girls are meek and humble; they don't work outside in the filth and the harsh, torrential heat like I do. No, their duty is to go to church, thank the Almighty Father for all that they have, and take care of the little ones.

I am different. I have specific duties to fulfill. You see, I _am _a British colony. I _am _the South. I _am _the North. I _am _the middle. I'm not just some mere British colonist.

I, Emily Felicity Kirkland, am everything. From the barbaric, never-ending woodlands, to the rolling mountains, to the fruitful tobacco, cotton, and indigo fields…

I am the New World. Well, at least _this _part of it. I believe that my guardian had given me an alternate name, besides Emily. I believe that it was America. Yes. That was it. America. And as America, it was my duty to step forward, and work as hard as I could for my beloved guardian.

Who is my beloved guardian, you ask? Why, it is none other than the Great British Empire of course.

Arthur Kirkland.

He has given me everything that I need; he has been there to care for me, nurture me, educate me, provide me with the necessary materials in order to ensure my survival…yes, the road of progression has not been smooth. I do recall the misery of the sixteen-hundreds; though I was a very young girl at the time, I starved along with my fellow colonists in Jamestown, digging through graves to feast on corrupted corpses, going to sleep with an empty stomach… what a harsh, harsh winter.

Nevertheless, here I am now, stronger than ever. And I am overflowing with pride. I find it a wondrous privilege to declare myself a loyal, British subject… a beneficial, nurturing British colony.

I know that Mr. Kirkland depends on me. I _must _work hard for him. The citizens of Great Britain need us; we have the raw materials that they don't have. We have the right wood and lumber, the ability to build immense ships, excessive amounts of beavers for fur-trapping, rice, tobacco, and indigo…

My dear guardian deserves it all. After all, he has worked very hard to get to where he is now; the top of the world, the naval power of Europe, the great British Empire. And I am overjoyed to be a part of his empire, to be able to contribute to his ever-growing stamina.

Not only do I receive high praise from dearest Mr. Kirkland, but I know that I will be rewarded in the once I die.

Desiring to do all of these things for my people, for Mr. Kirkland, for the Almighty Father… that must be a sign that I am a part of the elect right? When I die, I will be rewarded with eternal paradise, forever in God's arms.

Yes. I most definitely will be.

That is what Mr. Kirkland tells me anyways. Yet, I know for a fact that he is not a man of God. He does not believe in the elect, nor does he believe in pre-destination. You do not understand how concerned I am for his fate. I pray for him every night, asking God to spare him. I know that my efforts are fruitless; the Almighty Father has already chosen who the golden gates of heaven will be opened to, and who will burn in the fiery pits of Hell with Satan and all of his other fallen comrades.

But Mr. Kirkland is too kind, too wonderful to go to hell, right? Of course. I can never imagine such a great, golden-hearted man burning in hell.

God must have great plans for him.

I cannot say that life is easy for me, but I must not complain. Selfishness and ungratefulness are grave sins. I will not subject myself to such petty disgrace.

However, being a woman who engages in man's work, I have received my fair share of insults. There is not a day that goes by where I am given the occasional glare, the look of disapproval. Being the British colony that I am, I am obligated to defend my people, to pick up a weapon and run with my comrades.

Mr. Kirkland keeps telling me that I must not worry what others think, that learning to engage in combat is essential to fulfilling the duties that I am obligated to fulfill.

I can tell that the other girls stare at me with apprehension, point their clean, round little fingers at me from the safety of their houses. I am the only female who can engage in combat, who can pick up a weapon and use it just as efficiently as any grown man can. I've already had my fair share of experiences.

Indians, thieves, and most recently, the French.

Oh, what a glorious day… to be able to finally show Mr. Kirkland how useful I really have grown to be. If it weren't for me, I don't think he would've stood a chance against those nasty French frogs. I realize that he is very busy with affairs back overseas… therefore, it is my honorable duty to defend Mr. Kirkland's possessions here. On his…no…_my_ land.

On my soil.

And it worked. Thanks to me, the French have been driven out, never to return again. All they have now are those puny little sugar islands down in the southern seas.

That is proof of God's plan at work, right there. The French were not meant to be victorious.

I will forever raise my weapon as a proud British subject, whether I am male or female.

Because I am Emily Felicity Kirkland, and nothing…absolutely _nothing _can mutilate my loyalty to Arthur Kirkland …to the glorious Kingdom of Great Britain.

xXx

…_Do you hear me, Emily? _

_It's me. Amelia F. Jones._

_You've been deceived, brainwashed, used._

_It's time for you to break free. _


	2. Kneel In Silence

Emily threw her fist in the air as she jumped up with joy, giving a large yelp of excitement. She had done it; they had won. Thanks to _her _help, the British had managed to drive those damned French out of North America for good. Surely, Arthur would be proud of her. After all, he couldn't have done it without her. He had other business to attend to back in Europe; he didn't have time to deal with colonial skirmishes. But thanks to Emily, _his_ very own America, he had won. The British Empire had a whole new stretch of land for themselves now that Francis was out of the picture.

The British colony smiled brightly as she spun around to face Arthur, who was sitting on a fairly small, wooden chair, his golden hair unkempt, and his green eyes surrounded by dark circles of exhaustion. However, there was a faint smile playing on his lips as he gazed at Emily. She had grown. The last time he had visited her, she had been a tiny little thing. He never knew that she would grow to be so strong…so capable. Saying that he was shocked at the fact that she had managed to demolish the French and use _his_ own army to drive them out of North America was an understatement. He had _completely_ underestimated her.

"Isn't it wonderful, Mr. Kirkland? We won! We got those damned frogs out of here! Now it's all ours. It all belongs to the British Empire. Think about all of the resources that you now have!" Emily burst out, her big cerulean colored eyes glittering as she clapped her hands together in excitement. She couldn't get over the sense of pride that was welling up within her bosom; the complete satisfaction, the invigorating nationalism… she was a loyal British subject. She would fight for the British; she would serve her mother country; she would do everything for the well-being of the empire.

She felt so proud that she, Emily Felicity Kirkland, had fought alongside a vast number of British subjects. That she and her fellow colonists joined the effort. Yes, it may have been a bit difficult for her socially, as she was a young woman… but she wasn't just any young woman. No. She was America. The British colony itself. The hindrance of gender did not apply to personification.

"Indeed, it is my dear. Well done; I am very proud of you," Arthur said, exhaling heavily. He was tired. Extremely tired. And overwhelmed. He could not get over how strong this girl now was. He didn't know whether to feel pride or a sense of precaution. He didn't want any of his colonies to grow too strong. That would pose extreme problems…countless problems that he, himself, would not be able to handle. How could she have become so self-reliant after years of neglect? Of near-abandonment? The only interaction he's had with his colony as of late involved shipping of raw materials for the market. He was primarily interested in the South American colonies. They were the ones with the sugar, after all.

Arthur was flabbergasted. One day, he was reading her bedtime stories, holding her as she wept due to the thunder and lightning, scolding her for foul manners, and running around with her through the green meadows during the midsummer days…and then he leaves some years, and then returns to see that she has fully-functioning self-governments, vigorous workers and a prospering economy. It was almost as if the girl had been tenderly touched by the hand of God.

Emily spun around again, a small giggle escaping her lips, her long, curly blonde hair whipping through the air, her dress swirling around her bodice. She felt like a young child again; she remembered those days of old, when she would twirl around in the old meadows not far from here. The girl could envision it in her head… the warm sun, the feel of the grass against her bare feet, the smell of honeysuckle, the light breeze, and then there was Arthur Kirkland… always there… watching the little girl with a smile on his face. Sometimes he'd even take her small hands in his own and spin with her.

Pausing her repetitive twirling, Emily immediately scampered up to Arthur, pausing about a foot in front of him, her eyes wide and shining, and her hands folded in front of her, making sure to hold her bodice in a respectful way. After all, Mr. Kirkland deserved her utmost respect, and she would give him nothing less. Even the slightest slouch in her posture could be deemed as indecency. "I am very happy, right now, Mr. Kirkland. There is no one else in this entire world that I'd rather give my services to."

Bowing her head lightly, her lips still set in a giddy smile, she spoke again, her voice drenched in reverence. "I give you my thanks. I may not know the Father's plans, but it would be ridiculous to not acknowledge the fact that we are truly blessed."

Arthur remained silent for a moment, letting his eyes soak in every single detail of the girl…of this "America." A sense of spontaneous nostalgia filled him. She really was a good little girl. Very kind, very lively, beautiful, happy, obedient… And now, here she was. A reflection of the little girl that he had treasured. But that was it. Just a reflection.

There was no doubting the fact that she had changed. Yes, her spirit and persona were still the same. But again, no colony of his should be able to single-handedly defeat a fully combined army of French and Indian troops. Maybe Arthur was just over-thinking things; he should be grateful, should he not? He could rely on someone to be his back-up… while he took care of matters back home, his darling Emily could defend his name here.

But Arthur couldn't help it. That unease was steadily rising with each second.

She was just…just too strong.

In all honesty, the Briton knew that he was being ridiculous. Little Emily would never use her strength against him. Everything she ever said and did was in the name of the British Empire. He wasn't blind; he could sense her loyalty.

So, why did he find himself eyeing the girl in a way that a man eyes an enemy?

"There is no need to thank me, my darling. You have performed your part brilliantly." His voice was soft as he forced himself to stand up, wincing slightly at his aching muscles. He let his green eyes wash over her once again.

Yes, he still quite a bit taller than her, but she definitely had grown. The last time Arthur had seen her, she was still a bumbling, giggling child…a small being that he could just scoop up into his arms without a second thought. Now, she was a woman, her head just touching the base of his chin. Her large blue eyes had lost that youthful innocence, only to be replaced by a lively flame. Her skin was a milky color, and the Briton couldn't help but note that she still had the splash of freckles across her nose.

To be quite frank, Arthur found her to be extremely beautiful.

A bit _too _beautiful. It was almost unnerving for the man to see his "little sister" grow up, almost matching himself in physical age.

Taking another step forward, he placed both of his hands on her shoulders gently, looking straight into her eyes, an unreadable expression on his face, and the green of his pupils shining at her through the unkempt locks of hair that fell into his eyes.

"You don't understand how truly proud I am of you, Emily. You have exceeded all of my expectations," he said.

In a way, his voice could be considered tenderly genuine. And he was being genuine. He was speaking the absolute truth. Arthur Kirkland was proud of Emily. She had exceeded all of his expectations to the point of awe.

Maybe a bit too much.

That was the problem. Maybe she had impressed him too much… to the point of paranoia.

A small blush coated the girl's cheeks as she smiled at him meekly. "That means a lot to me, Mr. Kirkland. But of course, you do understand that I have every reason to thank you, right?"

In a slightly daring move, Emily moved both of arms so that she could rest both of her palms on top of his hands, keeping them on her shoulders. However, she remained undeterred, her eyes still fixated on the Briton's face.

Arthur stiffened slightly at the action, but other than the slight frostiness in his eyes, he seemed generally unaffected by the unexpected show of intimate affection. "If you insist upon thanking me repeatedly, then I will not stop you…if that makes you happy," he responded, his lips curling up into a gentle smile.

"I am glad to hear that." Chuckling lightly, Emily dropped her hands, folding them together at her torso once more. Though she looked generally unaffected, her face felt unnaturally warm. The girl knew that the Briton wasn't accustomed to physical contact as a form of affection. He had always been like that. The only exception to that rule had always been Emily. But now that she was an adult, things were different. She could tell by the look in his eye. It almost saddened her in a way.

Releasing his gentle grip on her shoulders, Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It is very late, and we've both had a very long day. I believe that it is time for you to go to sleep, my dear. I expect you to wake at an early hour, as I will need your assistance. I will be leaving at around dusk for London tomorrow."

Without a second thought, Emily nodded fervently. "Of course, Mr. Kirkland. I will be going to my bedroom right this moment. If you don't mind me asking… where will you be staying tonight?"

"I will be at the local inn; I will come to wake you up tomorrow morning," he answered.

"Why don't you sleep here, tonight? It will not cause me any trouble," she pressed, tilting her head to the side in an innocent manner.

Arthur looked away, an uneasy feeling building up in his gut. Yes, the girl was grown up, but she still had a lot to learn. "I'm afraid that it would be very indecent for me to do so. I am a man, and you are now a woman. I do not wish to dishonor you."

It took a moment for his words to register in Emily's brain, but when they did, another blush coated her cheeks. "Of course, Mr. Kirkland. I apologize for my blatant offer. It did not register in my mind…"

"You need not worry. I understand that your intentions were based solely on my well-being. I thank you for that. Now, I believe that I must be off…" Arthur avoided the girl's eyes as he started to make his way to the door.

In all honesty, he felt like he was immersed in a maelstrom of confusion. He did not know how to feel about his ever-growing colony. Yes, there was pride…pride at the fact that she had fought in his name, but there was also fear. That ever-growing fear and paranoia eating away at his chest… she was far too powerful. And strong.

But then there was the unnerving fact that Emily Felicity Kirkland was now a woman. He could not treat her like a child anymore. Dear Lord, he didn't think that he could stare at such a beautiful woman in the face and coddle her like he used to… not even to save his life.

With these thoughts hammering away in his brain, his hand grasped the handle of the door.

However, his actions were interrupted by a light, "Excuse me?"

Turning around, he found himself looking at the girl again, who had a nervous expression plastered on her face.

"I do apologize once again, Mr. Kirkland, but I…erm…I…" Emily felt humiliated. And nervous. But she couldn't help it. In all honesty, she knew that she couldn't get herself to fall asleep, even if she tried. She war far too overwhelmed, overjoyed, shocked. The recent victory had caused a surge of never-ending adrenaline to sweep through her veins.

Oh, Dear Lord, why couldn't she keep her mouth shut?

Surely this was acceptable, right?

All she wanted was a lullaby. Like old times.

It didn't matter that she was a grown woman, asking a grown man to put her to sleep.

However, the more Emily thought about it, the more she regretted opening her mouth. She knew that if Mr. Kirkland stayed here for much longer, people would start to notice, and the nasty rumors would start to spread. Emily did not want to be looked upon with distaste in the eyes of the church.

No. To be condemned by her peers, to be condemned by God…

But she wasn't doing anything wrong, right?

"You see, I can't sleep…a-and, I was just wondering if…if…"

Arthur knew what she was asking for. His immediate response was to refuse, to tell her that it was far too late for such frivolities, and that she was far too old to desire such a thing. However, upon looking at the girl again, he faltered.

He saw it… the shadow of the little, innocent girl he considered to be his darling "little sister," the small child he could consider his own.

No, there was no way that he could refuse Emily… not with his heart melting. His resolve was snapping in half… his frosty green eyes thawing into a molten liquid as a tender smile spread across his face. With a small sigh he turned back around and walked forward. "Only for a little while," he whispered.

A dazzling grin broke out onto the girl's face as she nodded once again, muttering her thanks before turning around and making her way to her small room, which consisted of a low ceiling, white walls, a singular window looking over the vast stretch of trees, and a singular bed.

Emily quickly stripped away her outer garments, leaving her in only her white gown. Quickly folding her clothes, she set them aside by her bed and quickly climbed under the covers. After saying a quick prayer, she pulled the sheets up to her chin, resting her head against the pillow.

"You can come in, now," she called out.

After a few seconds, Arthur opened her door and stepped in. He smiled at the sight of the girl, his memories whirring out of control. Oh, how he wished that she could be small again.

Walking to the side of her bed, he bent down on one knee. With slight hesitance, he reached out a hand to gently stroke the girl's hair, breathing out slowly through his lips. Emily let her eyes flutter shut in contentment, the comfort of familiarity building up within her, causing her tense shoulders to relax.

"Alright, my dear. Which song would you like me to sing?"

He fell into a slow rhythm of moving his fingers through her long hair, mentally noting just how soft it was.

"Erm… I don't really have a preference," she responded.

With a small chuckle, Arthur spoke again, "Do not worry; I have the perfect song for you. I think that you will remember it."

Taking a large breath, he began to sing, his voice soft and graceful, echoing gently through the room. The lullaby he sang was one that his older brother used to sing to him when he was younger… an old Scottish lullaby. Though he and Scotland would probably never again be on good terms, there was always this special lullaby that latched itself onto his heart.

"_Oh, hush thee, my baby,  
Thy sire was a knight,  
Thy mother a lady,  
Both lovely and bright;  
The woods and the glens,  
From the towers which we see,  
They all are belonging,  
Dear baby, to thee.  
Oh, hush thee, my baby,  
Thy sire was a knight,  
Oh, hush thee, my baby,  
So bonnie, so bright.  
Oh, fear not the bugle,  
Tho' loudly it blows,  
It calls but the warders  
That guard thy repose;  
Their bows would be bended,  
Their blades would be red,  
Ere the step of a foeman  
Draws near to thy bed.  
Oh, hush thee, my baby,  
Thy sire was a knight." _

A smile formed on his lips as he continued to stroke the girl's hair, the air in the room gentle and light…soothing. Just like old times. However, when he had finished the tune, he carefully ceased the movement, withdrawing his hand, noting that she had fallen asleep.

Her steady breathing filled the room, shattering the constant rhythm of the atmosphere. Arthur stared at the sleeping girl, his eyes growing slightly cold, a painfully uneasy sensation welling up in his chest once again.

Arthur got to his feet, standing up straight, his muscles awkwardly stiff, a constant ringing in his ears. Clenching his fists, he took a step backwards, suddenly finding it extremely hard to even look at Emily. So much has changed. He could feel it. He could feel that strength, that potential to become greater than him.

And it scared him.

Arthur Kirkland would not let it happen. No… he couldn't do it.

"Goodnight, Emily," he whispered.

"And, I'm truly sorry, my angel."


	3. Pray For Guidance

_Dream within dream we travel_

_Empires of faith unravel_

_Sealed with our virtue's treasures_

1765

Emily Felicity Kirkland

What in God's holy name is Mr. Kirkland playing at? This is so unlike him!

Emily's hands shook as her bright blue eyes scanned the already yellowed newspaper, her breath catching in her throat with each word that she read. It couldn't be… no! Absolutely not! This is absolutely atrocious! Surely, there must be some sort of mistake! Her dear Arthur Kirkland would never do this to her.

But no. There it was in clear print, the words dark and menacing, causing the British colony's head to spin with a mixture of shock and horror.

C A P XIL

"An act for granting certain Stamp Duties, and other Duties, in the British Colonies and Plantations in America, towards further defraying the Expenses of defending, protecting, and securing the same; and for amending such Parts of the federal acts of Parliament relating to the Trade and Revenues of the said Colonies and Plantations, as direct the Manner of determining and recovering the Penalties and Forfeitures therein mentioned."

An act for granting Stamp Duties… a cursed _act _for granting _Stamp Duties. _

No. Absolutely not. This did not sit well with Emily Felicity Kirkland. She would have a talk with Mr. Arthur Kirkland and his strange, faulty decisions. In all honesty, she was not fond of this so called George Grenville figure. Ever since he had come to power as Prime Minister in Great Britain, her dear Mr. Kirkland has been acting rather strangely.

First, there was that sugar act. Yes, it did irk Emily the slightest bit, but she had let it slide without too much of an upheaval. After all, Mr. Kirkland only hoped for the best, right? Of course, he did! He was only raising revenue because he needed the help to pay off the damages that those horrendous frogs caused. Plus, when Emily looked more into it, she realized that it really was just a revision of that humdrum 1733 Molasses Act that she didn't bother to follow. Generally speaking, this really was nothing new to her.

But things started to spiral out of control from there! Honestly, the French were gone! So why did Mr. Kirkland insist on stationing his bloody troops here? Emily knew that this really shouldn't be bothering her too much, but for some odd reason, it was, and she really could not help the feeling. Though she tried to control her emotions, all she wanted was for those damned redcoats to leave. They were taking up too much space, and their presence was nothing but a hindrance to Emily and her colonists. That damn Quartering Act required them to work twice as hard to support the ungrateful bastards… to feed them a portion of the food they earned, to give up a room or two in their houses for them, to tend to them when they were sick…

And what did they do? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!

Emily hadn't got the chance to complain to Arthur Kirkland for this, and she didn't have much time… for the anger of her people was leading to boycott! Surely he had noticed this! Surely he would listen to what Emily had to say!

But…But now this? What was he thinking? This "Stamp Act" was pushing the limit! Yes, Emily still considered herself a British subject, but…but… she lived here. Not in Europe. She was her own personification. She was _America. _She was _New England. _And she felt the weight of oppression weighing heavily in her heart.

With that in mind, Emily breathed out, her eyes narrowing as she dropped the newspaper to the ground, glaring at it as if it were poisonous. Dusting off her dress, she looked toward the window, the gentle rays of sun mildly blinding her. Averting her gaze she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

She was still young… very young... around sixteen or seventeen in human years. Surely she shouldn't be feeling this much stress, right? Especially toward her dear guardian, toward the massive British Empire. But this feeling… she couldn't fight this every-growing fire in her heart. Maybe this was a sign from God? Maybe she was meant to feel this way? Maybe this was a sign that she was among the elect.

Taking another deep breath, Emily walked forward and opened the door of her house, stepping out into the sunlight. The fresh smell of trees and sap filled her nostrils. The distant sounds of horses and sheep intertwined with the myriad of voices that belonged to the colonists.

Emily made sure to keep her back straight. As Mr. Kirkland always said, posture served as a good signifier to the proper lady. Her blue eyes remained fixed on the path ahead of her as she continued to walk. She knew that the others were staring at her; after all, people were aware that she was their personification, their leader. Though there were those grudging skeptics who did not enjoy the idea of putting their faith in an individual who took on the appearance of a young, teenage girl, they could not deny the fact that Emily Felicity Kirkland held an air of authority. Even though the girl preferred collaboration over authority, there was that spark within her that was waiting to come out. The elderly, the individuals plagued with age and experience were just waiting for Miss. America to explode.

"G'day, Miss Kirkland!" exclaimed Miss. Smithson, an elderly lady with hair as white as snow, and who happened to make the best pralines.

Emily smiled and nodded in response, though her lips felt tight. "G'day, Miss Smithson," she responded politely. It was a normal routine, and there were days where Emily's daily greeting to Miss Smithson were more optimistic than others, but the old lady's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in suspicion as she watched the young girl walk forward.

Even she, in her old age, could sense that tension, that stress, that ruthless determination that the girl held. It was to be expected after all; as the days passed, the colonists were getting more and more explosive. The boycotting increased, the British soldiers were still here, the work was difficult, and the bitterness grew like a disease. It was about time that the young girl talked to the "Almighty" Britain face to face.

Arthur Kirkland, to Emily's convenience, so happened to be in the area. He stayed at the far edge of the small town, in a decently-sized house that was owned by Mistress Henriette Addison. Henriette was quite the beauty… with large, brown doll eyes, plump lips, porcelain skin, and large, blonde barrel curls that fell just past her large, perfectly round bosom. It was a known fact that Mistress Addison and the handsome, young Arthur Kirkland were partaking in actions that went beyond "friendly" conversations when the clock struck twelve. However, despite the general whispers and rash rumors, Mistress Henriette Addison was not one to care about the reputation she possessed.

Emily, to be honest, found Mistress Addison to be a nuisance. Though she did her best to be polite in the woman's presence, she couldn't help that small seed of obnoxious jealousy she had for Henriette's close relations with Mr. Kirkland. It did not help that Mistress Addison appeared to be only a few years older than Emily herself in terms of human age.

The weather was rather mild today… not frigid and icy, nor humid and boiling hot. The sun made its presence known through the way it illuminated the blue sky, but it did not cripple the colonists as they milled around, living their daily lives. However, there was no mistaking the grim looks on their faces. Emily, herself, couldn't help but frown as her eyes made brief contact with those of the various British troops stationed in the area, their expressions stern and unfeeling.

It didn't take too long for Emily to make it to Mistress Addison's house. It was a pleasant-looking structure… very cozy in comparison to a majority of the houses that littered this area. The teen paused, sucking in a breath as she looked at it, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. For a fraction of a second, Emily hesitated… she almost took a step back and decided against confronting Mr. Kirkland about his rash, aggravating actions. But she had seen the faces of her fellow people. She had seen those emotionless stares of those bloody redcoats. She felt the pain and stress of working hard for something that would never be achieved.

Emily cleared her throat before walking up the entrance of the house. Henriette had taken it upon herself to set up a few cobblestones in a specific arrangement so that any visitor could smile at the addition of her fancy, charming steps. Sadly, Emily was not amused.

Standing at either side of the door were two British soldiers, their eyes steely as they fell on the small personification who happened to be half their size. Emily stopped about four feet from them, a serious expression on her face as she folded her hands respectfully. "G'day, gentleman. If you don't mind me asking, does Mr. Arthur Kirkland happen to be in at the moment?"

"In, but not available," answered the man to the left, his voice sharp and stiff. "What business do you have with Mr. Kirkland, miss?"

In…but not available? Emily had to resist the urge to scowl in irritation. He was probably getting a bit too cozy with Mistress Addison again. She did not have time for this; she needed to speak to him about this now, because…because she knew that she wouldn't be able to get herself to do it at a later time.

"Please, good sir, I insist. Though I cannot disclose the information that I plan to discuss with Mr. Kirkland, it really would be convenient if I could speak with him right away," Emily pressed, trying to maintain a level of calm in her voice.

"Mr. Kirkland does not wish to be bothered by anybody right now," answered the soldier to the left, his voice gruff and cold. "Especially not by young, under-developed women. Why don't you run along, now?"

Emily clenched her teeth, her eyes narrowing in on the soldier. What did he think she was? Some prostitute? A love-stricken fool? A faux-virtuous child who wanted nothing more than to become the next town whore? She was NO Henriette Addison. Oh, how tempted she was to take that damned gun that he was carrying and smash it into his skull.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe that I have more right to speak to Mr. Kirkland than either of you do," the teen snapped at them, her lips curling into a bitter smirk. "After all, my name is Emily Felicity Kirkland, and I do personify the very soil you are standing on at the moment. In fact, if we were to get technical, I am two or three hundred years your senior… maybe even more. Don't they teach you to respect your elders back in the motherland? Hmm?"

Emily couldn't help herself. She would normally scold herself for becoming so rash and impolite, especially to the redcoats. But she also couldn't help the sensation of pure satisfaction as she saw the looks on the soldiers transform. Their eyes widened and the skeptical coldness disappeared. That's right. She was no mere 'young, under-developed woman.'

After a few more moments of intense staring, the two soldiers exchanged looks before nodding toward her. "You may see Mr. Kirkland. We apologize."

Emily dusted off the front of her dress as she nodded her head in response, a tight expression lingering on her face before walking forward and opening the white door to the house and stepping inside. When was the last time she had visited Mistress Addison's house? It must've been years ago, when the now shameless woman was still a child… before her mother and died from fever. At the time, Emily was grateful for the fact that young Henriette did not fall ill as her parents did. Now, however, she wished that the damned, beautiful woman was rotting in a grave.

The teen, however, feared thinking such thoughts. After all, she was not to think ill of others… surely that was not what the Lord advocated. Plus, thinking such thoughts were signs that she was going to burn in the depths of Hell with Satan and his army of fallen angels for all eternity. The idea frightened her to no end.

The hallway was rather dark, as a majority of the windows were blocked with hand-sewn curtains, giving Emily a rather claustrophobic feeling. Turning toward the left, she entered the first room at the end of the hall, which so happened to be the living room… well, that is if her memory served correct.

And it did. The living room was rather large in comparison to the rest of the house. Though its ceiling were not very tall, it was still wide and open, with a sofa imported straight from the Motherland, as well as a cobblestone fireplace that burned with bright embers. However, what caught Emily's attention was not the embroidery nor the colors of the wall, but the two figures locked in a rather intimate embrace behind the couch.

The scene before her caused Emily's cheeks to go pink with both embarrassment and shame. There was Mistress Henriette Addison, her porcelain skin flushed, her eyes closed, and her lips occupied with those of Mr. Kirkland, who stood behind her, almost a head taller, one of his hands trailing up her stomach, and the other gripping her hip, pressing her backside against him.

Emily had the sudden urge to cover her eyes and retreat. She had walked in on Mr. Kirkland and Mistress Addison in a rather compromising position before, but she had never seen them perform the actual act of such sinful, lustful intimacy.

Muttering a quick prayer under her breath, she cleared her throat, trying to ignore the fact that she felt like she had been doused in fire. Upon the less than graceful noise, the couple quickly broke apart, their eyes wide as they observed their young visitor.

"O-Oh! Emily, dear!" choked Arthur, his voice a bit shaky as he quickly stepped away from Henriette, attempting to flatten his tousled blonde hair and straighten his unkempt shirt. On the other hand, the Mistress did not even try to make herself look presentable. Instead, she glared at the young teen with steely eyes, her lips swollen, and her curls a tangled mess. It really was no secret that the Mistress disliked her. After all, Henriette was the current object of his affection, and she had somehow convinced herself that the young personification had the potential to steal him away. Ha. What nonsense.

Emily glanced at her pointedly, though she did her best to avoid eye contact, especially when she felt so flustered.

"I apologize for interrupting," Emily proceeded in a tight voice, "but I do have some important matters to discuss with you, Mr. Kirkland… if you don't mind, of course."

Oh, how Arthur Kirkland looked like he wanted nothing more than to kick Emily out of the house and continue on with his "friendly" rendez-vous with the lovely, voluptuous mistress. The teen wasn't blind; she could see it written all over his face. However, she stood stock still, a determined expression on her rather pink face. Plus, she could not help but enjoy the small amount of pleasure that came with infuriating Mistress Addison.

"…I… yes," he finally relented, running a hand through his hair. "Of course." Clearing his throat, he awkwardly turned toward Henriette, a slightly apologetic look on his face. "I truly am sorry, madam, but would you mind stepping outside for a few moments?"

Mistress Addison opened her mouth to protest, but after a few seconds, she thought better of it, attempted to untangle the mass of curls on her head, and headed out the door, shoving Emily's shoulder upon exit. The teen gritted her teeth at the retreat.

Once the two were alone, an awkward silence fell as Emily stared at Arthur Kirkland with a rather hard expression. She didn't know where to start… oh, she had so much she wanted to say to him. However, the words didn't come. No, it wasn't because she was nervous, much to her surprise. It was because she found herself to be extremely livid. Here she was, struggling alongside her suffering colonists, facing the injustice of the motherland, while this blasted man stuck his fingers into some whore's panties and repeatedly claimed her bloody backside.

With an exasperated sigh, Arthur wearily faced her, an exhausted expression on his face. "What do you wish to speak with me about, Emily?" he asked. The undertone of his voice was clear. Make it quick, and get out.

Emily remained livid for a few more seconds before unfolding her hands, taking a few steps forward, and pausing. "What are you playing at?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Kirkland, I am aware that you are not hard of hearing. What are you playing at?"

"I do not understand what you are implying, Emily. You know that I've taught you to to…" However, to his shock, he was cut off as the young personification spoke again, this time, her voice laced with a bit more venom.

"An Act for granting Stamp _duties, _Mr. Kirkland?" she spat, not caring if this was the first time that she had ever interrupted her beloved guardian in the midst of his speech.

"Emily Felicity Kirkland," he warned in a stern tone, his green eyes flashing dangerously as he, himself, took a step forward.

"Please, I insist. Do not speak to me like I am a child. I understand and respect your authority, as I, myself am a loyal British subject. However, I do have a few complaints to issue on behalf of the people living on _my _soil." Emily made sure to put emphasis on the 'my,' her blue eyes unblinking as she continued to speak, rather satisfied that she had managed to render the Englishman speechless.

"I also understand that you are a busy man, Mr. Kirkland, and that you have the weight of a whole empire upon your shoulders. As British subjects, we are happy to help you carry that weight. We accept the rules and regulations you enforce upon us. However, I have not been very fond of your actions as of late."

Arthur stared at her incredulously for a moment before letting his facial expression fall flat. His lips were pursed in a straight line, his previously pink cheeks now chalk white… with anger? With fear? With confusion? Maybe all three? "I pray you, Emily. What is it about what I am doing that is bothering you, so?"

Emily took that as her cue to continue. Clearing her throat, she crossed her hands politely once again, making sure to keep her posture straight, despite the fact that her back was starting to ache. And as she spoke, the more the adrenaline within her grew… that flame… that flame that everyone saw within the young girl sparked, showering mild, yet significant embers of fire.

"We aren't represented in parliament," she said in a cold voice. "Yet, the motherland continues to tax us without proper representation. This is causing some unneeded tension among your faithful colonists. You do realize that the sale of your products within my land has significantly decreased, do you not? Men and women are starting to fend for themselves by making their own food, their own clothes."

At this, the Englishman scoffed, his patience wearing thin as he realized just how temperamental his charge had become. Turning toward the fireplace, he started to walk slowly in its direction, his footsteps echoing eerily around the room. "You sound like an impotent, spoiled child. I know that I taught you better. Do you not understand that you are represented in Parliament? There are many groups that do not have a concrete place, even back in the Motherland. Does that mean that we do not give them our attention? Of course not!"

Turning back to face Emily, he sighed once again. "It's called 'virtual representation,' my dear girl."

At this, the teen snorted. She was even shocked at herself for such un-ladylike, indecent sarcasm and rudeness. But she just couldn't help herself. She felt the pit of her stomach boil as her heart thudded against her chest. "That is a bunch of ridiculous nonsense and you know it. We are a prominent part of your empire, but we have learned to govern ourselves. Either you give us a proper place in parliament, or you do not tax us. If you do not plan to tax us, then I would appreciate it if you took your soldiers and take the next ship back to London."

At this, his eyes narrowed into slits. "How dare you…"

"Oh, and that brings up another point!" Emily exclaimed, the irritation swirling around in her chest, though she did not move a muscle. "Your soldiers. They are a nuisance, and they take up unnecessary space. My colonists have to work twice as hard to provide for your soldiers, and we do not get anything in return. Frankly, I do not see why they are still here; the French are gone. I do not need your stiff-backed, red-coated males meandering through my land, treating us like bothersome, absent-minded roaches!"

"What brought this on, Emily?" he spat as he made his way up to the girl, now hovering over her, standing no more than two feet away from her. The teen gulped slightly… after all, Mr. Kirkland was significantly taller than her. "Why so rash? Why are you acting like a spoiled child? After everything I have done for you…"

"This Stamp Duty… repeal it."

"Absolutely not."

"Repeal. It."

"Do not be ridiculous."

"Oh, I understand," Emily drawled, stamping her foot as her fists clenched at her sides. "You cannot repeal the act because you, the almighty Arthur Kirkland, have given all of the power to that pathetic _Grenville,_ so that he can introduce these ridiculous acts to us colonists while you violate Mistress Addison's backside in every room in this damned house!"

A ringing silence followed as the two held their breaths, waiting for the other's reactions. Emily's head was spinning. She could not believe that she had just said that… especially to her dear guardian. Oh, goodness… what was she thinking? No…no, she was NOT thinking. Oh, dear Lord… she now knew that God was frowning upon her.

After a moment, Arthur's green eyes became distant as he stood up straight, took a few steps back and averted his gaze toward the door, his facial expression hard, pale, and stoic. "If that is what you really think of me, Emily, then I cannot change your mind. I apologize for inconveniencing you. I would appreciate it if you made your leave."

The teen's face was burning. Her throat was dry and her limbs started to tremble. However, she couldn't seem to look away from the solemn, handsome face of Arthur Kirkland. She had seen him sad and distressed, but never had she seen him so…so… solemn looking. There was no warmth in his face… not even one drop. Everything about his posture screamed of distance, of wanting to be as far away from Emily as possible.

Closing her parted lips, Emily finally looked away, nodded once, and turned to make her leave, not daring to look back. It hurt. It really hurt, and she was not expecting that. She had been so angry, so determined mere moments before. But now... she wanted to take back everything she said. She wanted to go back in there, give the Englishman a hug, and apologize over and over again.

However, Emily knew now that there was no going back. She said what needed to be said… yet, she also understood that this was also only the beginning.


End file.
